07.11.2025
A: Do you still keep that website?
S: I only write fiction nowadays.
A: Yet you have retained your readers?
S: They still read. Some are very loyal. In a world where loyalty is rare. Where time is precious and limited.
A: Do you think they wonder what you are up to nowadays? Outside of fiction?
S: I am sure I am a curiosity. A warrior from the old world. A so-called ‘toxic male’.
A: Did you not tell me that, in person, one told you that you led an uneventful life? That you did not do anything?
S: Apparently I do nothing and nothing happens. And yet the readers are riveted to my writing for some reason. Funny that. I am all over London everywhere and yet I am always doing nothing.
A: What did you do today?
S: I am not saying. I am denying anyone that reads for the vicarious feeling of pleasure in my life.
A: What do you think these readers make of you?
S: I am everything to all people. Friend. Inspiration. Argumentative. Childish. Mature. Egotistical. Humble. For some, an absolute enemy.
A: Every writer faces some kind of hostility, agreed. But what is it that you are trying to convey through your fiction?
S: In his mind, the writer has the idea of one who is in accord with him. Perfect sympathy. The beautiful reader. The ideal reader. The one that loves him. Perhaps, she reads.
A: That is what you have in your mind. Others dream of money and fame. Immortality.
S: I dream of love. I write for love. I work for love.
A: And yet, love is precisely what you don’t have.
S: The forms of love are various. Some come. Some don’t. In love, I am a beggar.
A: The philosophy of India is that the one who has the least is the greatest. Don’t forget that.
diary of a lone man 